"When the world burned, humanity lost more than lives. It lost its memory."— Unknown, Year 2060 Chronicle
In the year 2060, the world fell. Nations unleashed AI, nuclear fire, and biomechanical monsters. Humanity didn't survive — it barely clung to existence. Four billion lives were lost in the ashes of its pride.
But 110 years later, the Earth heals slowly. Cities became dust, machines turned myth, and power is now personal — found in boons, ancient blessings passed through bloodlines and bound to spirit.
On the continent of Vameth, deep within the mysterious kingdom of Valmora, lies the quiet city of Whisky — or rather, what remains of it: a cluster of humble villages, dirt roads, and souls too poor to be considered a threat. It is a place of peace. And hidden within that peace is a spark of destiny.
A boy, Ananta, only 13, walks barefoot across a cracked path as the sun tilts toward dusk. Beside him skips his 9-year-old sister, Mia, a bundle of laughter, dust, and light.
"Hey, my little bunny, Mia. Stop jumping so much. You'll tire yourself out before we reach home." Ananta chuckled, ruffling her dusty hair.
"Big bro! Why do you always smile? Huh? You're weird! It's like you're… not from this world. Always smiling, helping, hugging people. Are you secretly a hero or an angel?" she teased.
Ananta smiled wider, that calm, kind warmth in his eyes. "Maybe I'm both. Or maybe… when you live with love, you forget how to be cruel. That's all. But enough of that — let's race home!"
They dashed into their clay home, laughter echoing under the crumbling roof.
Inside, the smell of warm stew filled the space. Their mother, Venna, stirred a pot while humming a tune — one she sang since Ananta was born.
"Wash up, food's ready!" she called.
Their father, Sarvan, a strong, quiet man with calloused hands and tired eyes, lifted Mia into his arms. "My little angel is back. Did she conquer the world today?"
"No, but I raced Ananta and almost won!"
Venna kissed Ananta's forehead. "You always smile. Even when you're exhausted. Just like your father. My strong boys."
That night, as they sat around the floor, sharing food, they sang that same old song:
"When the sky is silent, and the ground is gone,Love is the fire that carries us on."
Ananta closed his eyes. That moment — he would remember it forever.
He did not know it was the last.
The Knock
Knock. Knock.
A heavy fist at the door. Sarvan stood.
He opened it to find Crocus, Ranger of Valmora — his right hand smoldering with a fire boon, face twisted in command. Behind him, soldiers waited, some already smirking.
"Are you Sarvan? We heard rumors you have a boon."
"No," Sarvan said flatly.
"Doesn't matter. Orders are clear. We're here to take women for pleasure and children for labor. The king demands it."
The silence that followed was deafening.
Sarvan's hand clenched. His eyes turned golden.
With a roar, his right arm expanded — veins glowing, muscle turning to stone — and he slammed a giant fist into Crocus's chest, sending him flying into the dirt. Soldiers stumbled backward.
Sarvan rushed out — but what he saw stopped his breath.
The village was already on fire.
Flames climbed rooftops. Bodies lay still. Silent. But no screams, no sound.
Because atop a nearby tower stood Omega, Ranger of Silence, clad in a blue cloak and pointed hat. His boon: Zone of Silence. A deadly field where no voice, no scream, no cry could escape.
Sarvan ran into battle.
Fists against flame. Fireballs lit up the twilight. The dirt shook.
And then — Omega appeared behind him.
A blue sword. A sudden stab through the back.
Sarvan fell.
Ananta saw it all. "FATHER!!" he cried, trying to run, but Omega's foot slammed him into a wall.
Lying in the dust, Ananta looked up.
Sarvan coughed blood. "You… you think you've won? We are the Sh***[ can;t say it properly]… We bring golden age for five thousand years… We… will rise again…"
Crocus laughed. "Fairy tales. Still clinging to dead gods?"
He lit a fireball and threw it at Sarvan's head.
Sarvan died.
The Dance of Ashes
Crocus turned to Venna. "You're pretty. The king will like you."
He reached for her.
"STOP!!" Ananta screamed — but no one heard.
Then Venna looked up. Her hands folded in prayer.
She ignited.
A burst of white-blue flame engulfed her. But she did not scream. She did not fall. She rose.
Her form shimmered. Four arms emerged from her body. Her eyes closed. Her mouth moved in silent prayer. Her body danced in slow, divine grace as she burned.
Crocus stumbled back. "Wh-what…?"
Suddenly — music.
Even inside the Zone of Silence, they heard it. Soft flutes. Distant bells. Drums like heartbeats. Voices singing in a forgotten tongue.
Ananta, lying on the ground, heard the music inside his chest, like it came from his soul. He remembered that same tune his mother used to hum while stirring stew.
One by one, every woman taken aboard the ships began to glow.
A hundred of them — shining with the same white-blue fire.
They floated down.
They danced.
Not with fear — but with fury and peace. Like goddesses returning to the sky.
They burned… and vanished.
And in the center of it all stood Ananta, not screaming, but crying — silently — as if the entire world had been wrapped in a shroud.
The wind blew ash over the village.
The fires faded.
The children were safe.
Omega lowered his sword. He looked toward the sky and whispered:
"In a world this dark… does God really exist?"